


Court Sessions and Misimpressions

by Aetherios



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Scorpius Malfoy, Banter, Co-workers, Denial, Draco Malfoy in Glasses, F/M, Gold Wire-Rimmed Glasses, Hermione Granger is always right, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Miscommunication, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Professional Rivals, Single Parent Draco Malfoy, Workplace Sex, to be specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetherios/pseuds/Aetherios
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been the singular bane of Hermione's political existence ever since she started working at the Ministry. After surviving three years of snark, smirks, and impossibly elegant snorts, she thought she was prepared for anything her colleague would throw at her... until he started bringing his son to work. Really, it was a shame someone so infuriating had to have such an adorable baby.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 50
Kudos: 388
Collections: round 12 2020





	1. Objection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maraudersaffair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/gifts).



* * *

“And that’s why house-elves must be released from their indentured servitude immediately,” Hermione finished, tucking an unruly curl behind her ear. “This legislation is far overdue, and the basic liberties of magical beings cannot be denied any longer.”

Hushed voices drifted across the courtroom, and she let her gaze sweep over the Wizengamot as she awaited their final verdict. That had gone quite well if she did say so herself. Exceptionally well, in fact. She’d presented her argument in a perfectly professional fashion, steady, composed, and not a second over one hour and forty-seven minutes, just as she practiced.

The fact that she had Minister Shacklebolt's full support didn’t hurt her case either. Being a war heroine certainly did have its merits, though she would never admit it aloud. At the tender age of twenty-five, she had already made countless changes in the wizarding world. Yes, this legislation would be passed without a hitch, as long as no one objected—

“Objection,” came a familiar voice from the left of the courtroom. Hermione let out a sigh and slowly turned her head to face her colleague of three years, the singular bane of her political existence. 

She supposed that she should have seen this coming. He always managed to find a way to ruin her life when they were in school and he definitely hadn't grown out of that habit now that they were working together; always inserting himself into her projects and giving his unsolicited opinions. And Slytherin that he was, he waited until the very end of her argument, allowed her to get a sniff of victory only to snatch it away from right under her nose. 

She folded her arms across her chest and waited — excruciatingly patiently, she might add — for him to elaborate on exactly what objection he had this time. Chief Warlock Perkins’ attention snapped away from her, resting his keen gaze on the blonde instead. Hermione had to refrain from rolling her eyes. 

Draco Malfoy commanded attention in every aspect of his life and the courtroom was no exception. 

Regardless of what side of the war he had been on, his family had far too much political importance and connections for him to be sent to Azkaban. Throw in the fact that The-Boy-Who-Lived himself had spoken for him at his trial and he got away with little more than a warning and probation. Four years later, he was now held in high regard in the Ministry, working with her in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's drafting department and as a twelfth of the Wizengamot jury. Entitled prick. 

However, even _she_ had to grudgingly admit that he made quite an impressive picture lounging back against the wooden bench — dressed in a tailored suit and fine robes over it, his feet clad in dragon-hide shoes that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe did combined.

Everything about him screamed ‘success’ _,_ and to complete the whole debonair look, his cool grey eyes were framed by _gold wire-rimmed glasses._

Because he just bloody had to wear gold wire-rimmed glasses that made him look like the star of some sort of depraved, erotic academic fantasy. That wasn’t to say that she ever had those fantasies. That would be completely absurd.

The only thing which shattered that aristocratic image was the little boy in his arms, replacing it with an oddly domestic one. Malfoy had only just started bringing Scorpius to work two weeks ago, and she still hadn't gotten used to the sight of the baby. So when he shifted a little in his father's grip, a tuft of blond hair falling over his resting eyelids, she felt some of her irritation disappear.

Babies always had that effect on her. She couldn’t count the number of times she had refrained from scolding Harry for doing something reckless during an Auror mission just because James was in the room. And Scorpius certainly wasn’t any different than her godson. It was baffling that someone as infuriating as Malfoy could produce something so sweet and innocent.

She supposed she shouldn’t be too hard on him, though. It must have been difficult for him to have to raise a child alone after he and Astoria split up, especially with a full-time job. It was admirable of him, really. 

Then the git decided to speak again, and whatever little admiration she felt was quickly replaced with irritation once more. 

“A majority of the wizarding population relies heavily on the services of house-elves,” he began, adjusting his gold wire-rimmed glasses on his nose, which Hermione absolutely did not take note of. She did _not._ “Surely you understand that passing this legislation would mean taking away their primary source of help.”

The corner of his lip curled upwards in that criminal smirk of his, and she could tell he was actually enjoying this. Well then, she might as well give him a show. Her chin tilted up. “And surely you understand that these house-elves are magical beings, not slaves. Wizards are perfectly competent at magic to be able to manage themselves without—”

“And that’s exactly where you’re wrong," he interrupted, and she narrowed her eyes. He knew how much she hated being told she was wrong. "House-elf magic is far superior to that of a wizard,” he continued, adjusting his hold on Scorpius so that he could stand and turn to the rest of the Wizengamot. “They can perform much more complex magic than we can, without a wand, no less.” 

Nods and murmurs of agreement filled the hall, and Hermione took a deep breath, willing herself to think straight. It wouldn’t do to fling hexes at Malfoy in the middle of a court session, no matter how good she thought his smug, pointy, perfectly-shaven face would look covered in boils.

“Yes, I’m aware of that," she said calmly, "which is exactly why their magic shouldn’t go to waste on menial tasks like cooking and cleaning. House-elves have the potential to do so much more and yet, we still force them to clean up after us.”

“What you fail to understand, Granger,” he said, his gaze falling on her once more, “is that they aren’t being 'forced' to do anything. They’re used to their work — they even enjoy it.”

“How would you know what house-elves feel?” she asked, making her way up to the jury box. Why was he doing this now, in front of the entire Wizengamot? He could have easily saved his concerns for when they got back to the office. These were exactly the times she wished she could read him better, but that impenetrable mask he always wore betrayed nothing.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Perkins stand up and speak, his voice amplified by the sonorous charm cast on it. “Miss Granger, if you would please stay on the platform—”

“I think I’d have a better understanding of how the creatures think, seeing as I was practically raised by them,” Malfoy cut in, a pale brow raised.

“That’s exactly my point.” She came to a stop directly in front of him. “With house-elves around, people will rely on them for everything; even raising their own children. Wizards _need_ to change the way they think!”

“It’s how we’ve lived for centuries, Granger.” His tone was far too amused than it should have been. “Too many families depend on their help and that cannot simply be changed—”

“This legislation would cause a revolution in the way our world works,” she insisted, straining to keep her voice calm.

He clicked his tongue and leaned across the wooden railing between them, his tall frame practically looming over her. “What this legislation would cause is an _outrage_.” 

She lasted another moment before she broke, throwing all semblance of calm to the wind. "House-elves are creatures who deserve their own rights!" She pressed up onto her toes to reach his height, their noses almost touching now. "It's slavery, that's what—"

A piercing wail echoed across the courtroom, slicing through her words like a knife. She tore her gaze away from those stupid gold wire-rimmed glasses in front of her and let it land on the crying boy in Malfoy’s arms instead. 

Shite. Scorpius was awake. 

Her heart twinged at the sight of hot tears streaming down round cheeks. In the throes of their heated discussion, — debate, more accurately — she’d completely forgotten that the baby had been sleeping. She swallowed thickly, letting her eyes drop to the floor. The hall was silent except for choked sobs and quiet hushes. After what felt like an eternity, Perkins cleared his throat.

“The next session will take place next Friday afternoon.” No one moved. “Adjourned,” he declared awkwardly, followed by the thump of a gavel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like my ~~obsession with~~ fondness for gold wire-rimmed glasses is out now haha.
> 
> A massive thank you to [peaceisalwaysbeautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceisalwaysbeautiful) for sorting out my thousands of convoluted, jumbled ideas and giving me so many incredible ones of her own. Anything that even _slightly_ resembles humor is her work. 
> 
> An equally massive thank you to [ningloreth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ningloreth) for hosting this exciting fest, and to [maraudersaffair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair) for giving me such a wonderful prompt to work with. I hope matchmaker Scorpius lives up to what you had in mind. 
> 
> Hope you'll all enjoy this silly little story with me!


	2. Incarceration

Hermione nipped at the tip of her quill as she tried to shorten the length of her argument for the next court session. Most of the Wizengamot had been gazing off into the distance by the time her presentation ended on Tuesday. If she recalled correctly, some had even looked half-asleep. She tried to focus, but her thoughts kept straying to Scorpius' face as he cried in Malfoy's arms. She hadn't meant to wake the baby up, but she couldn't help her outburst. If only his father wasn't so bloody infuriating!

Knowing she wouldn't be able to concentrate, she dropped her quill on the desk and leaned back in her plush office chair. She didn’t know _why_ she had to shorten the argument anyway — one hour and forty-seven minutes seemed like a perfectly acceptable duration to her. How was she supposed to address all of her points in just forty-five minutes? Especially if a mere thirty was enough to make people doze off. Their attention span was truly abysmal. 

At least Malfoy had the common decency to stay awake, although verbally attacking her within an inch of her life wasn’t any better. Not to mention he was the reason she had to re-present her argument in the first place, so she wasn’t about to give him any credit. She supposed that wasn’t entirely true either. After the first session, she’d spoken to a few Wizengamot members only to find out that not one of them planned on voting for her proposal, telling her that it was too ‘ambitious’.

Even so, she’d been doing incredibly well until Malfoy decided to open his snarky mouth, wearing those _glasses._ Those gold wire-sodding-rimmed glasses that made her blood boil hot and something unidentifiable in her core boil hotter. It wasn't that she couldn't identify the feeling, really. She just didn’t want to. Once she started thinking about it, she didn't think she'd ever stop.

Especially since he worked with her every waking hour, smirking at her with that godawful, sardonic, sharp but somehow pillowy mouth—

A creak of the door cut off her thinking, and in swept the very subject of those traitorous thoughts. Hermione felt her face heat as he made his way over to her, Scorpius tucked snugly into his chest and gnawing on the fabric of a tie she was sure cost half of her Gringott's vault. 

“Perkins asked me to deliver this to you,” Malfoy said by way of greeting, using his free hand to extract a purple slip of parchment from the pocket of his robes. 

"Couldn't send one of your precious house-elves to do the job?" she asked, her tone light but the words true. Three days hadn't been long enough to cool her ire, and Hermione had to make the dig. Besides, it was because of him that she was irritable in the first place. She took the memo from his fingers and quickly skimmed through its contents. Before she could reach the end of the missive, however, she heard a distinctive thud.

She lifted her gaze from the parchment but her line of vision was obstructed by a pair of shiny, dragon-skin Oxfords, polished to perfection. “Malfoy,” she warned. He hummed in response, relaxing into his chair. “Kindly refrain from putting your feet on my desk." 

He should know better by now, really. Her _avis oppugno_ was a thing of the legends at the Ministry. She wondered how he would look with a flock of canaries pecking at his arms.

“I’m tired,” he sighed, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I love this little menace, but carrying him around all day is hard work, you know?” He nodded his head fondly at Scorpius’ sleeping form. 

Well, that wasn’t her fault, was it? She wasn’t the one who went to Kingsley last month and manipulated the Minister into letting him bring the baby to work every day by playing the pitiable single father card. _He_ was. 

“Exhaustion doesn’t excuse your lack of manners,” she told him, swatting at his ankles. “Now, get your bloody—”

"No swearing in front of the baby," he interrupted, covering Scorpius' ears. “Irritation doesn’t excuse your lack of manners either, Granger,” he said, his lips forming a smirk. 

She leveled a glare at him, and his smirk widened. “Get your wretched feet off my desk or I’ll have a dozen canaries shooting at you before you can say _‘Protego’_.” 

‘Wretched’ was probably not the best word for his feet. She’d seen them clad in socks a few times, and they were actually quite lovely— perfectly sculpted with a high arch and ideal spacing between the toes. But that wasn’t the point. 

“You need to work on your threats, you know,” Malfoy said, his eyebrows knitted as he moved to swing his legs back to the floor. “Tiny, yellow birds don’t sound very intimida—”

A sudden crash made her whip her head to see her inkwell shattered on the floor, black liquid spilling all over the wooden floor. It must have been knocked over while he was taking his legs off the desk. And he wondered why she made these rules. With an exasperated sigh, she drew her wand to clean up the mess when she heard a shriek.

“Damn it,” she muttered, seeing Scorpius awake with tears streaming down his face as he screamed. Malfoy seemed to be whispering an odd mix of consolation and obscenities as he tried to calm the baby down.

Merlin, it was only eleven o’clock in the morning, and this day was already turning out to be a disaster.

Ditching her attempts to get the floor clean, she took in the scene before her. Scorpius was chewing on the flesh of his stubby palm, tears and saliva dripping down his chin. When he began to rub the back of his hand against his gums, her lips formed a silent ‘o’ in recognition. 

“That's quite a lot of teeth he has for his age,” she noted, her inner dentist flaring to life. She thought back to the diagrams in her parents' office. “The last two incisors usually begin to erupt at about ten months. Scorpius already has all eight of his in, and he's only a little past seven months, isn’t he? Well, I suppose it could be hereditary. Did you or Astoria begin teething—” 

Her mouth snapped shut at his look. This probably wasn’t the best time to lecture on about every possible reason for the premature growth of teeth in a child, she realized. Instead, she held her arms out across the desk, an unspoken question in her expression. Hermione had had plenty of experience with handling crying children in the past and, judging by the dark bags she'd been seeing under his eyes for the last half a year, Malfoy looked like he could use some help.

“I know a spell that could ease the pain,” she offered when he didn’t say anything. “It would help with the soreness of his gums.” She remembered using that particular charm to help James when he was teething a year ago. 

After a moment of hesitation, he leaned ahead, handing the baby over to her. She settled the thrashing boy onto her lap and reached for her wand. Smoothing a hand over his silky hair, she brought it to his mouth. She tried to imitate the tone she heard Ginny use at home. “Can you hold still for me?” He writhed in her grip in reply, shrieking even louder. “Just keep your mouth open and I promise you’ll feel better after this,” she cajoled. 

He complied, his mouth moving to catch the tip of her wand between his gums. Hermione quickly pulled it away before it snapped in half. “No, no, you don’t eat the wand. You just need to keep your mouth open for me, alright?” 

Looking up at her with watery grey eyes, he opened his mouth even wider, and she smiled a little. The stubborn man in front of her could learn a lot from his sweet, compliant baby. 

_“Frigus,”_ she muttered with a small flourish of her wand, and a cool gust of air breezed over his face. She could’ve sworn she heard the room sigh in relief when his cries began to subside. Her gaze lifted up only to meet Malfoy’s unreadable stare. His brow was furrowed low on his forehead, head tilted slightly and lips pursed into a thin line.

He looked… different. More open, in a way. She thought she saw a crack in that cool shield he always seemed to guard himself with, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away. 

“You’re, er… You’re quite good with him.” His gaze drifted down to the baby sitting contentedly on her lap, and her own followed, watching as pink gums gnawed on stubby fingers. 

“I spent a lot of time with James when he was teething,” she said in explanation, smiling down at Scorpius fondly. "His tantrums were even worse than this. He drove Harry absolutely barmy." 

She looked back up just in time to a steel barrier building over the grey irises, diminishing every last hint of depth in them until they were flat once more. Her smile faltered. 

He cleared his throat, his lips stretching into an all too familiar smirk. “Experience, then. I’d have thought someone who consults a book before getting dressed every morning would have done the same for this.”

While she rolled her eyes on the outside, Hermione felt an unexpected rush of disappointment course through her at the words. Just when she thought she’d broken through his shield, it had mended again, hiding him behind layer upon layer of snark once more. What was the point of being let out of Azkaban if he was only going to incarcerate himself again, this time within his own fortress of defense mechanisms and Occlumency? 

The sharp scraping of metal against the floorboards as Malfoy abruptly stood up broke off her thoughts. She stared at his expectant arms for a moment before realizing that she was supposed to give Scorpius back to him. With great reluctance, she handed the baby over. He turned to make for the door and she closed her eyes, determined to not let him distract her from her work any further. Just when she began to think back to what points she could cut from her argument, he spoke again. 

“By the way, Granger." Her eyes shot open. “Unless you're going for a matronly look, you should consult a new book.” He looked down at her feet pointedly and left the office, leaving the door open behind him.

Hermione let out a sharp exhale, picking up her quill to scratch at her parchment furiously. There was absolutely _nothing_ wrong with sensible clogs. _Nothing._


	3. Summons

A bright pop from outside her room made Hermione shoot up in her bed, her spine straight and her heart racing. Fumbling around the nightstand for her wand, she clenched her fingers tightly around the vinewood. No matter how much time had passed since the end of the war, she knew that it would never go away — this anxiety and hyper-awareness whenever there was a sudden sound. Even now, as she untangled herself from her sheets and stumbled towards the bedroom door, she could hear the words ‘constant vigilance’ ringing in her ears.

Slipping on her sensible and _perfectly_ acceptable clogs, she slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. She scanned the hallway, her wand drawn in front of her and ready to cast a spell at any moment, when she heard a voice squeak, “Miss! Master Draco is asking Tilly to bring you to the Manor immediately!”

Her gaze dropped to see a frantic house-elf standing before her, clad in something that looked suspiciously like a tutu. Her eyes caught on the clock hanging on the wall in front of her and widened when she saw the time. 

What could Malfoy possibly want from her at two o’clock in the morning?

Tilly tugged on her hand insistently, and Hermione groaned, realizing she had no choice in the matter. If Malfoy had to resort to calling her on a Saturday, and this late in the night — or this early in the morning, rather — it must be urgent. Glancing down her ratty camisole and loose pajama bottoms, she was about to tell the elf that she needed to change first when she felt a familiar tingle just under her navel.

She hardly had any time to process what was happening when she was swept away in a swirl of side-along apparition. 

Hermione landed in an ornately decorated parlor and staggered slightly, still dizzy from the unexpected travel. Before she could get a chance to regain her balance, a piercing shriek assaulted her ears. 

“About fucking time, Granger,” she heard Malfoy grumble in his typical, entitled fashion as he emerged from a dark corridor, and she could make out the silhouette of a flailing Scorpius in his arms. So much for not swearing in front of the baby. “He's been like this for an hour now. I read him 'The Dancing Dragon' four bloody times; even that couldn't get him to stop.” 

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the thought of Draco Malfoy reading a toddler's book aloud to his son, but the smile quickly fell away when he stepped into the dim light of the parlor, coming into full view. Her eyes landed on his face, and she almost choked at the sight of his ever classy gold wire-rimmed glasses _askew_. In all her years of working with him, she’d never seen them with even a speck of dust on the lens, let alone sitting completely crooked on the bridge of his nose. 

His nightwear was another thing entirely. It wasn’t as if she expected him to sleep in his expensive, expertly tailored suit and robes, of course, but she certainly hadn’t been prepared to see him in a cotton shirt and drawstring trousers. Drawstring trousers that hung dangerously low on his waist, revealing a sliver of the pale skin of his abdomen she had to actually _force_ herself to look away from. 

She couldn’t help it, honestly. She hadn’t been with anyone since Ron, and that had been over two years ago. Besides, it was past midnight and her mind was a bit boggled. 

Another screech made her turn her attention back to Scorpius, and her heart broke at his distress. She knew how much pain he must be in right now — sharp teeth cutting through sensitive gums was bound to be painful. It was a good thing she knew how to help him. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said James had been even worse when he was teething. 

Making her way over to where Malfoy was desperately trying to soothe the crying boy, Hermione came to a stop in front of him. Taking in his tired eyes, and drooping shoulders, she held her arms out so that she could relieve him of the added strain. 

“Thank Salazar for you, Granger," he said, handing the baby over to her readily and collapsing backward onto the sofa with an undignified thump she didn’t even think a man of his elegance was capable of making.

Scorpius didn’t seem to understand how rattled she was by his father saying he was 'thankful' for her. He shifted in her grip instead, and she struggled to balance his weight evenly. He was a pudgy little thing and it made her think about how Malfoy could manage carrying him around work all day. It was no wonder he was so fit — not that she ever paid attention to that sort of thing, of course. 

He was just too ridiculously fit to _not_ notice.

Shaking her head, she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. She raised a hand to Scorpius’ mouth and leveled her wand there. The baby seemed to recognize what she was doing from the day before and parted his quivering lips wide, tears trailing down his swollen, red cheeks. Bloody adorable child. 

Muttering the incantation under her breath, she watched as the effect of it washed over him. He sniffled a little as his crying waned, and he snuggled into her breast. She’d only known this baby for two weeks, and he already felt like hers. Hermione smiled down at him, an odd combination of confusion and fondness blooming in her chest. 

“I couldn’t find anything about that spell in the Manor’s library. None of the charms books I read had any mention of it,” she heard Malfoy say. 

She looked down to see the man spread across the couch, his eyes fixed on his son in her arms, and his jaw set in that way it did when he was thinking hard about something. “You won’t find it in a book,” she said. “I came up with it myself when I realized standard cooling charms don’t have the same effect on sore gums."

A hint of pride shone through her. It had taken countless months of research, and a generous number of attempts to develop, but the charm remained to be one of her bigger accomplishments—

“Of course, _you_ would invent your own spell, swot that you are,” he managed through an impossibly elegant yawn, interrupting her thoughts. Apparently, his exhaustion didn’t extend to his ability to snark at any given opportunity. 

“As long as it helps, does it really matter who invented it?” she asked. 

He shrugged as well as one could when sprawled across cushions. “Classic Gryffindor, always assuming everyone needs help all the time.”

Her brows furrowed. “Well… they did this time, didn't they?”

“Maybe,” he said, his eyelids drooping shut. Another equally elegant yawn betrayed his utter exhaustion. “Maybe not for the reasons you might think.”

Were they still talking about Scorpius? Hermione was beginning to think they weren’t. “Malfoy,” she whispered, “What are you—” 

“Anyway, you’ll need to show me how to cast that charm sometime," he mumbled.

Hermione frowned as she watched the rise and fall of his chest even out. She wondered how much sleep he must be losing if he could drift off that easily, crammed between the cushions of the small couch. With his long limbs folded in awkward angles and gooseflesh rising on his skin from the cold, he couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

She was just thinking of whether it would be too invasive of her to look around for a blanket when there was a pop from behind her. 

Tilly wordlessly approached the couch, carrying a quilt that was surely twice her weight. When the elf staggered as she tried to spread the quilt over his sleeping form, Hermione moved forward. 

“Oh, I can do that,” she said quickly, using her free hand to take the end of the heavy quilt. “You don’t have to overwork yourself, Tilly. You can go back to bed if you’d like.” She wondered if Malfoy would even provide the poor creature with a bed, although if he’d already given her clothes — and a sparkly tutu, no less — a bed didn’t seem too out of the question. 

The elf almost sounded offended when she whispered, “Tilly is not going to bed _again._ She is already sleeping for so long! She is wanting to help her Masters.” Straightening the quilt and making sure it covered his toes, she put her hands on her frilled hips and turned. “Tilly is putting Young Master to bed now.”

Hermione considered saying she could manage the baby herself, but when she saw the green orb-like eyes narrow at her, she handed Scorpius over. Tilly’s annoyance seemed to melt away when the baby relaxed into her arms, nuzzling his round cheek against her bony shoulder. She turned around and walked towards the same dark hallway, then stopped in her tracks. 

“Tilly’s family is serving the Malfoys for generations. She is taking care of Master Draco since he was being a baby and is taking care of Young Master now. She is _loving_ to help them,” she said firmly and continued down the corridor, Scorpius sleeping contentedly against her chest. 

Hermione frowned a little, thinking back to second year when Dobby had said the exact opposite. She’d never known even one house-elf who had enjoyed serving the family they were bound to. Dobby, Winky, Kreacher, and most of the elves working in the Hogwarts’ kitchen hadn’t been treated right by their masters; forced to punish themselves for even the slightest mistake. 

She _knew_ that freeing the helpless creatures was the right thing to do. Just because this one elf enjoyed their servitude didn’t mean that countless others should suffer. 

Sighing, she started to walk towards the fireplace when her gaze caught on those damn _glasses_ still crooked on Malfoy’s nose. Bending down, she pulled them off and folded the temples back, putting them on the coffee table beside her. She righted herself and watched him for a moment longer. He looked different in his sleep — the tightness around his eyes gone and his usually set jaw relaxed. 

Unguarded, she thought. Genuine. Real. 

She shook the thoughts away and turned around to trudge to the mantel, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. Throwing a pinch of Floo powder into the embers, she stepped into the hearth and let the flames swallow her.


	4. Dismissal

After a suspiciously but blissfully quiet weekend, Hermione should’ve _known_ the office would be chaotic when she arrived on Monday. Then again, she didn’t think any length of prior notice would have prepared her to see a swirl of parchments and quills levitating around Malfoy’s head, Scorpius squealing in delight as he levitated them. 

“He looks happier today,” she noted, dodging a rogue parchment and taking a seat at her desk. Malfoy’s eyes flitted up to hers briefly, then back to the folder in front of him. She frowned a little, watching a quill float past his head. “He started showing his magic, has he?” she asked, trying to start some sort of conversation.

She usually entered the office to a snarky greeting and a smirk, which she’d thought to be irritating until now. His complete lack of words was far worse. 

Was he angry at her? She didn't think he'd ever actually been angry at her before. They'd had their tiffs and debates before, full-blown arguments even, but that would be just to rile each other up. Was he pissed at her at all, though? 

She almost thought of trying to read his gaze before she remembered she couldn't. She didn't think she ever would.

Thoughts were running rampant in her mind now. Why was he still so guarded in front of her? They had gotten into a comfortable rhythm with each other over the years. At least, she thought they had. With the amount of time they spent together in the office exchanging quips and scoffs, she would even say that they were close to friends. So why would he—

“I wanted to express my gratitude for your assistance the night before the last," she heard Malfoy say, and her head snapped to meet his hard stare. 

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him it was no trouble; that she was honestly more than happy to help any time. He looked like he needed it, judging by the bags under his eyes that seemed to have grown even darker over the weekend, standing stark against the paleness of his skin.

Before she could say anything, though, he continued on. “I also apologize for summoning you in such a manner. It was unprofessional of me and it won’t happen again.” 

Her mouth snapped shut. Of course, it wouldn't happen again. How could it? They weren't friends, they were reluctant colleagues. They hardly tolerated each other in the office, let alone outside of it. "Yes, that would be completely... completely _unprofessional,_ ” she said, forcing down a swallow. 

Malfoy cleared his throat once more and looked back down at his folder, adjusting his glasses on his nose. Hermione didn’t even give a second thought to the gold wiring this time. "Unprofessional," he echoed. "Exactly." 

Following his example, she turned her attention back to her work to find that she didn’t have any. Unlike Malfoy, she’d finished reviewing her week's proposal folders already. She couldn’t blame him for it, of course. She could only imagine how much Scorpius would need to be attended to at his age, first with his teething and now, his magic. Malfoy couldn’t possibly find enough time to complete his work. Especially since he didn’t have someone to share the responsibi—

Her thoughts were interrupted by another squeal and she looked back up to Scorpius sitting on the desk adjacent to hers. Her pursed lips lifted in a smile when she saw his overjoyed expression. It was a nice change after seeing him only cry the past week.

She recalled James’ first bit of accidental magic a year ago and had to suppress a shudder at the image of poor Harry stuck with shocking pink hair for a week. He'd been all the Auror Division could talk about. At least Scorpius wasn’t that much of a troublemaker as her godson was. But he seemed to be growing bolder, as he directed his pudgy hand at an inkwell next.

The jar hovered higher and higher, but Malfoy seemed absorbed in his work, his stare fixed on the folder in his hands. Before she could warn him, the jar came crashing down to the desk in a spray of black liquid and broken glass.

Hermione shot out of her seat and rushed to the other side of the office where he was already standing, ink staining the front of his robes. “Salazar, Scorp,” he muttered, scanning the boy’s arms, presumably for glass shards. Scorpius was giggling, though, so she decided it was safe to assume he wasn't hurt.

Malfoy searched the tiny palms one last time and then straightened. He looked at the puddle of ink around the boy for a moment before opening the drawer beneath his desk and shuffling through it. Shaking her head, she moved forward to clean up the mess. Her fingers barely brushed the parchment she was about to pick up when it was snatched from her hand. “I’ll take care of this.” His tone was just as tight and formal as before.

“No, it’s alright. Let me—”

“I can handle this, Granger. I just need my wand…” he trailed off, closing the drawer with more force than strictly necessary. Scorpius imitated the sound by slapping his hand on the desk; something she would have smiled at had she been paying attention.

“The longer you let the ink dry, the harder the stain will be to remove,” she insisted, pulling out her wand from her pocket. “It’s no trouble, really. I can—”

“Just give me a second to find my wand and I’ll do it myself,” he said, his voice strained as his gaze swept across the office. 

Folding her arms across her chest, she huffed. It was true what she said — cleaning charms didn’t work well on wood stains if they were already dry. If she had already had her wand in hand, why wouldn’t he let her cast the spell? “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

The words escaped her before she could stop herself.

“Because I don’t need your fucking help, alright?” he snapped, all traces of formality gone, and she actually took a step back from the harshness of his tone, her eyes going wide. She had grown so used to a cordial, even _friendly_ Malfoy that the bitterness laced in his voice surprised her. 

She watched as he pulled his wand from under Scorpius’ thigh, casting a non-verbal _scourgify._ “I've finished the apothecary files. Tell Perkins I’ll be leaving early,” he muttered. Then he picked up a no longer giggling Scorpius from the table and stalked out of the door, leaving Hermione alone in the office, staring at the dried ink on the floorboards she had to clean just last week.


	5. Injunction

The next three days, Malfoy made it a point to ignore her. He didn't once address his outburst, instead opting to work in complete silence, only speaking to her when absolutely necessary. He didn't even _look_ at her except for the time she switched her trusty clogs for the pair of low heels she remembered him staring at last Christmas. She did _not_ wear them in the hopes of inciting a sardonic remark from him which, and she loathed to admit it, she found she missed. 

Not at all. 

She just thought they looked nice. 

Still, he had only given them a glance before he turned back to his work. So when she came to the Ministry on Friday, she didn't anticipate it when he actually spoke to her. "I see your matronly dressing sense has finally improved," he said from his office chair, his eyes on the skirt she was wearing instead of her usual regulation robes. 

Hermione didn't make a habit of dressing up for work, but today was her second and, hopefully, final Wizengamot session. She wanted to look nice for it. Besides, Ginny said it hugged her arse nicely. She'd even borrowed some of her friend's Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, but she didn't think it was working very well since she could already feel the curls starting to frizz up in the humid summer air. 

At least she still had the skirt. Scorpius seemed to approve of her outfit too, as he leaned forward from his place on the desk to catch the deep blue material between his tiny teeth. She noted his gums looked less red and swollen, and she smiled a bit, glad that her charm was working. Pulling the fabric from his mouth, she decided this was starting out to be a good day.

Malfoy was coming back to his usual snarky self, Scorpius' crying episodes and magical mishaps had waned, and she was prepared for her court session later that afternoon. Over the last couple of days, with Malfoy's persistent silence and no new legislation proposals to look through, she'd perfected her argument. She had managed to cut down the speech to just forty-seven minutes — which she was still a little put off about — and had memorized the whole thing word for word. 

Realizing that she still had an hour and a half until the session, she pulled out the parchment from her beaded bag. Perkins wouldn't have any more folders for her to review until Monday, and besides, one could never be too prepared. 

She read through the speech once and then closed her eyes to repeat it under her breath. _House-elves deserve the right to…_ She was had just started reciting it for the third time when she was interrupted. 

"Granger,” Malfoy said. She opened her eyes to see Scorpius curled up on the cushion-charmed desk, his eyelids fluttering shut as his afternoon kip came to claim him. She realized she’d been speaking out loud. 

"Oh, sorry. I'll just practice in my head," she said, imitating his hushed tone.

She started from where she’d left off, intending to finish the speech for the last time, but he spoke again. "I don't see why you need to practice more. I'm sure you know the whole thing backward by this point." 

Perhaps this wouldn't turn out to be such a good day after all. "I just want to make sure this legislation gets passed," she sighed.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, and Hermione startled in her seat, caught off guard. She didn't think she'd ever heard a genuine question come out of his mouth. Snickers, snide remarks, and even the occasional laugh she was used to. Not questions.

She thought about it for a moment. Why _did_ she care about this legislation? Because house-elves were being treated unfairly. Because they were forced to do their Master's bidding and were punished if they didn't. Because it was unjust. But he knew that, didn't he? "I think they're worth fighting for," she decided on eventually.

Malfoy nodded slowly, his hard gaze trained on the wall behind her. "Has it ever occurred to you that house-elves might not want to be another one of your charity cases?"

"And has it ever occurred to you that I might not think of it as a 'charity case'? That I _want_ to help them?" she returned, firm but soft so that she didn’t wake the sleeping baby. 

"And why do you feel the need to help?" he asked, his eyes snapping to hers. She thought she saw something akin to desperation in his expression and she softened. "Why do you somehow feel morally compelled to help— to _save_ everyone even when they don't ask for it?" 

Hermione had a feeling they weren’t talking about house-elves anymore. 

She rose from her seat and made her way to his desk. "Because maybe I care." She came to a stop in front of him. "Maybe they need to start caring about their own well-being. And maybe they need to forgive themselves and allow someone else to care about them too."

He hesitated for a moment before standing up. "You shouldn’t care about them. They don’t deserve to be cared about, Granger." She watched him for a moment, taking in his sunken cheeks and the creases in his forehead.

"I..." she paused, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "I don't think they get to be the judge of that." He was silent for a moment. "Malfoy—"

The words fell away as he pressed his lips pressed to hers. She stumbled back in surprise, but his hands moved to her shoulders, steadying her. Her lips remained stiff and unmoving against his as she tried to process the thousands of wild thoughts exploding in her head. She vaguely registered his nose brushing against hers once before he abruptly pulled back.

His eyes were dark and blown wide, and his voice came out almost panicked when he said, "I didn't mean to, er, I wasn't—" He closed his mouth, swallowing thickly. His stare held hers for a long moment until it snapped to Scorpius, who was still sound asleep. When he looked back at her, she saw a familiar steel fortress building in them. Her heart dropped to her stomach. 

"Don't do that," she said, the words chasing from her without meaning to. She looked down at the floor and took a deep breath, steeling her courage. "Don't keep hiding behind Occlumency walls. I want…" Her gaze flitted back to his. "I want _you_. I want to know you, not this— this _mask_ you're always wearing." 

Hermione slowly brought her hand to his face, drifting her fingers across his cheekbones. She watched as his eyelids fluttered slightly, and she continued down his jaw until her hand came to rest on his chest. “Take down your walls. _Please,_ ” she breathed. 

“You want to know me,” he repeated. She nodded, feeling something in her chest twinge at the disbelief written clearly across his face. 

When he didn’t say anything, she was sure he would refuse; that he would smirk and give her one of those sardonic quips only he could think of before he left the office. But then she saw something shift in his eyes. The slightest flicker of silver before the ever-unyielding barrier gave away to something warmer and conflicted. “What if…” He licked his lips. “What if you don’t like who you find?” 

She lifted herself on her toes so that she could look into his eyes, open and desperate. “How about you leave that for me to decide,” she said, her lips grazing lightly against his before she lowered her heels to the floor. 

But then his fingers wrapped around her waist, drawing her back in. She watched his lids drift close, letting out a shaky breath as his mouth met hers. She had always associated Draco Malfoy with cold. From his icy grey irises to his frigid demeanor, he seemed cold to her in every way. She'd been silly to think he would taste cold too. No, he tasted inexplicably, intoxicatingly _warm,_ and she lost herself in it.

His hands traveled from her hips to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him until there wasn’t a single place where her body wasn’t touching his. His kiss was slow, but heated, stripping Hermione of her ability to think and think, and overthink. 

The only thing she _could_ think about was his fingers digging into her back with a vice-like pressure, his tongue sweeping between the seam of her lips to tangle with hers, his gold wire-rimmed glasses scraping the skin of her cheek, his soft, almost indiscernible sigh that tickled her nose and— 

Celestina Warbeck’s voice ringing through the room. 

Wrenching herself away, she glanced at the clock above the office door, its hands pointing to four minutes past twelve, ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’ chiming out of it. She followed the movement of the small hand for half a minute before her eyes widened.

“The Wizengamot session!” she remembered. Quickly extracting herself from his grip, she rushed to her desk for her speech parchment. She tucked it into her blouse pocket and turned to see him looking at her dazedly, his face flushed and mouth slightly parted. Her eyes caught on his swollen lips for a moment before she shook her head. “Hurry up, Malfoy, we’re already four minutes late.”

At her words, he finally moved, taking his cloak from the back of his chair and shrugging it on. He faced her again, his eyes falling to her blouse. “You have, er… you have a button awry,” he muttered, his cheeks tinged pink. 

She glanced down to see not just _a_ button, but _three_ buttons on her blouse completely undone. When the hell had that happened?

She clicked her tongue, a flush starting at her chest and moving up her neck until she felt her cheeks flame. She found grey eyes tracking her reddening skin as she quickly moved her hands to right them. Her trembling fingers didn't seem to want to cooperate with her. For Merlin’s sake, why did this need to happen now? Now they were going to be late to court, and her legislation wouldn’t be passed, and—

Her struggle was interrupted when he sighed and strode forward until he came to a stop in front of her. He raised a hand to the buttons, his fingers righting each of them in one swift motion. He gave an irritatingly sophisticated snort. “She can cast fifty spells in under a minute, but can’t figure out how to loop in a button.” 

Recognizing that particular breed of snark, her eyes snapped to his, searching for a familiar barrier she hoped beyond hope she wouldn’t find. And she didn’t. Instead, the grey irises were filled with what looked like reverence, and something deeper she couldn’t quite read. “You really meant it? What you said about wanting to know me?” he asked. 

Then she placed it. Vulnerability. 

She tried to make her expression light instead of sympathetic. She had come to learn that Draco Malfoy didn’t care for sympathy all that much. “I meant it,” she said, raising her hand to where his own was still twiddling with a button to entwine their fingers. “I want to know everything about you. But that means you’ll have to be honest with me.” 

The tightness of his jaw gave away, his lips curling in a smirk— _no,_ this one wasn’t a smirk. This was a smile. The two were almost identical, except his smile was warmer, showing a flash of his teeth. 

“In that case,” he said, picking a resting Scorpius up from the desk and making for the door, “I had an idea about that legislation of yours. But it might involve a slight rearrange.” 

Hermione listened to his far too smug explanations and his far too sophisticated snorts all the way to the courtroom. 


	6. Adjournment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content ahead. If that's something you don't enjoy, feel free to skip this chapter :)

_One week later_

“I cannot believe you!” Hermione stormed into the office, slamming the notes she’d been holding for the past two hours onto her desk and sinking into her chair. "I cannot believe you just objected to your own proposal! All because you were unsatisfied with my placement of a comma?” 

Malf— _Draco_ followed her through the door, his hands in his pockets and that perpetual smirk on his face. "It wasn’t _my_ proposal, it was only my idea. And, to be fair, it was an Oxford comma."

She huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Oxford comma or not, I don't see why you still have this overwhelming compulsion to object to every one of my proposals.”

"Old habits die hard and all that," he said with a dismissive wave. "Besides, I still voted for it. You got the legislation passed, didn't you?"

"No thanks to you," she said. He gave her a pointed look. 

Alright, it _may_ have been all thanks to him. After the Wizengamot had given Hermione a week’s extension to finalize her bill, Draco had helped her redraft her legislation to allow the payment of house-elves for their services instead of freeing them completely. He had even called Tilly as a Creature Representative to support the proposal. The elf had spent half an hour talking about how she used the eight galleons her Master paid her a month to buy herself a tutu. As of ten minutes ago, the 'Wages for House-Elves Act' would be in full motion.

“Take your time, Granger. I’ll wait,” he said, propping his elbows on the desk, his eyebrow arching in that amused and regretfully endearing way she couldn’t replicate if she tried.

She watched him for a minute before she let out a resigned sigh. “Oh, fine. Anything to get that smug look off your face,” she relented. “You might have helped a little.” 

Another look. “You helped a lot,” she amended in a mumble, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.” She looked up to see his smirk stretch even wider. “Do you need me to cast a _sonorous_ on your voice?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You heard me perfectly bloody—” She broke off at the curse, looking around the office for a moment before remembering he hadn’t brought Scorpius to the Ministry today. After the disastrous ending to the first Wizengamot session, they didn’t want a repeat of the incident. “You heard me perfectly well,” she continued. “I said you helped a lot, you egomaniacal prat.” 

Draco straightened then, slipping around the desk to pull her to her feet. "There, now was that so hard?" he asked. His fingers moved trailed around her neck to tangle in her hair. His hands came to her chin, tilting her face toward his.

"You're impossible," she said, trying for a stern expression even as she fought a smile. 

"Impossibly what, Granger? Smart? Handsome? Wealthy? You'll need to be more specific.” His breath skimmed the shell of her ear, and although his words were teasing, his tone was warm. She opened her mouth to respond, but his lips found hers first, and any retort Hermione might have come up with died in her throat.

This kiss was… different. It wasn’t like the heated, frenzied snogs they had begun stealing in the Ministry’s copious abandoned alcoves. This was slow, and purposeful as if he was trying to memorize every single ridge and curve of her lips. 

His face angled slightly to deepen the kiss, and she shuddered, feeling the hard edge of his glasses — those gold wire-rimmed glasses that tortured her day and night — graze the skin of her cheek. She pulled away from him to murmur, “Locking and silencing charm.”

“Already done,” he said, his hands abandoning their place in her hair to take her by the waist instead, lifting her onto the desk so that they were at the same height.

“When did— You planned this, didn’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He pushed her knees apart, stepping between them so she could wrap her legs around his waist. “I plan everything,” he drawled.

Hermione lifted her hips to grind against him and she grinned at his low groan. She didn’t think he planned that. But she supposed she didn’t plant the heat that pooled deep in her core at the feel of his hard awareness of her either. Dropping her fingers to her shirt, she plucked the buttons free with a deftness she'd never been capable of before. She slipped the thick material off her shoulders and his darkened gaze fixed on the green lace of her bra.

“Salazar, Granger, is _th_ _is_ really what you were hiding under all those matronly clothes of yours?” He tugged the sheer cups down and looked back up at her, a glint in his eye. “Though, I still think your style truly peaked when you came to the Manor last weekend wearing that scrap of cotton with those thin straps.” 

“The camisole?” she asked breathlessly, trying to form a coherent sentence through the heady haze of her mind. “It’s hardly stylish. It’s what I sleep in, it isn’t meant for anyone else to see.” Her voice hitched at the end when his thumb flicked over a nipple. 

Moving her hands to his hips, she fiddled with the buckle of his belt until it came loose. “I’ll count myself lucky to see it then,” he said in a low voice, his hands skating down her sides, “You won’t believe how much I wished one of those straps would snap.”

She shuddered at his words, feeling a finger trace up her thigh, dipping beneath her knickers with the slightest graze before drawing back. Her hands froze on the clasp of his trousers.

Glazed eyes, almost black with desire, raised to meet hers. “May I?” Draco whispered against her cheek, his voice surprisingly soft, contrary to the teasing drawl from before.

“Y-you may,” Hermione barely managed to choke out as he pushed her skirt up her legs, the fabric gathering around her hips. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and dragged them down her legs, letting them fall to the floor. His lips peppered kisses at her jaw before traveling down the column of her throat as he slid a finger into her heat. The pad of the thumb brushed over her clit, and she whimpered. 

Never had she met a man with fingers as skilled as these. Ron had been perfectly sweet, of course, but perfectly clumsy all the same. Draco wasn’t clumsy. _Merlin,_ no. Every thrust, every stroke carried dexterity and precision. 

It was everything. 

It was too little. 

Suddenly feeling the overwhelming need to see him, to _touch_ him, she resumed her work on his trousers and pushed them off his hips, fumbling for the cotton of his shorts. She tugged them off halfway when he withdrew his fingers from inside her, his other hand closing around her wrist, halting her. She almost whined at the loss of contact, but he spoke first.

“Are you sure?” Her gaze flitted to his. Charcoal irises were lighter now, a layer of concern mingled with the desire. “You need to be absolutely sure because I don’t want you to... and then if… and with Scorpius... I need to know if you’re sure about this. About us.”

“Draco,” she said softly, “I’ve been sure about you since the day you walked in here holding that baby a month ago, and at least partially sure before then. I told you I wanted to know you. I meant it.”

The tension around his eyes disappeared, and with a hint of a smile, he released his grip on her wrist to place his hands on the desk, entrapping her between them.

Taking this as a sign, she made quick work of his shorts and they fell to the floor. She closed her fist around his length, giving it a few slow pumps, and his eyes squeezed shut, his tongue peeking out to rest on his bottom lip. At her angled tug, his head buried in her shoulder, letting out a string of unintelligible words into the curls stuck to her damp skin.

Her ankles loosened their hold around his waist, her knees parting further as she pulled him closer. She tugged at him once more in encouragement, guiding him to her center. It must have been encouraging enough, for he quickly pushed forward, sheathing himself within her. She threw her head back at the feeling of complete fullness, leaning backward on her elbows. Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk as they set a steady pace, her hips rolling to meet each of his thrusts. 

It was sinful, really, how perfectly they matched each other's rhythm. 

His hands moved from their position on either side of her, one coiling around her waist and the other slipping between their connected hips to stroke her clit. Hermione's teeth clamped down hard on her tongue, almost drawing blood, to hold back what she was sure would be an embarrassingly guttural groan. “Come on, Granger, you’ve never been shy about voicing your opinions before,” he said in a ragged breath. There was the confident Draco Malfoy she'd always known. “Let me hear you.” 

His movements started to grow more frantic, building in both pace and intensity. Hermione’s heart was racing, but she kept her lips pursed, even as she felt a coil deep inside her wind tighter and tighter. His hips snapped into her at a higher angle just as he pinched her clit, and her mouth fell open, a broken sigh tumbling from her.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his lips traveling across her clavicle, leaving the skin beneath it aflame. “What do you need me to do to make that brilliant mouth of yours scream?” 

She gasped, feeling herself grow impossibly wetter at his words. “That,” she spluttered as he nipped at the side of her neck, his tongue flicking to soothe the skin. “Keep… keep talking.”

He pulled back to look at her, his eyes flashing with something she didn’t want to discern just yet. “Do you want to hear about how captivating you are when you speak about creature rights and injustice? About how exquisite it is to see your eyes light up like they did during your speech?” 

His thrusts sped up and stars swept through her vision. 

“About how fucking hard you make me when you're passionate about something? About how much of a fucking turn on it is when you're in your element?” Her back arched off the table as his voice lowered to a whisper, “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Hermione? What you did to me even then?” 

It was her name on his lips that made the tight coil in her finally snap, her fingers clenching his shirt until her knuckles went white.

Hermione screamed. 

She felt Draco’s hips stutter against hers at the sound, and with a few final thrusts, he quickly followed her over the edge with what she could only describe as a growl. Her arms gave out behind her and she collapsed onto the desk, her breath coming out in pants. She watched as he snatched his wand from the edge of the desk, cleaning both of them up before dragging on his shorts and trousers. 

She rolled her head to look at him as he dropped into her chair and had to suppress a smile at the sight of his hair, damp and disheveled, the platinum strands sticking up at odd angles. She could get used to seeing him like this. Her breath finally caught, she slid off the desk and pulled her knickers up her thighs, righting her skirt. “Thank you, by the way, for all your help with the legislation.” 

His gaze focused on her, dazed but content. “Yes, that idea worked out quite well. I don’t know how you didn’t think of it before,” he said with a wink, rising to his feet.

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling before fixing on him again. She took a step towards him and reached her hands to his face, straightening the foggy lenses of his glasses resting askew on his cheekbones. “You know,” she said after a beat of silence, “I had some ideas about the rights of werewolves, regarding the current accessibility of Wolfsbane—”

She was silenced by a groan and a press of his lips to hers. “Take a break, yeah, Granger?” 

He kissed her again, and Hermione thought maybe the werewolves could wait a little bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we reach the end! This has been such a joy to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. I have to say, I'm really going to miss ~~the gold wire-rimmed glasses~~ these two snarky, oblivious idiots :')


End file.
